Don't Go
by SupersedingTheBinary
Summary: Was it really too much for Greg to ask Mycroft to choose him over work just once?


Greg received a text from 'Anthea' confirming that Mycroft would be home at 8 o'clock as his latest meeting had been cancelled for reasons undisclosed and he had been delighted. The last time he had seen Mycroft had been exactly a week ago and that was too long. Far too long.

He went shopping and got ingredients to make the best welcome home meal; The ultimate home made lasagne made with beef and pork, fresh pasta, Italian mozzarella and creamy béchamel. Wonderful. His dad had taught him how to cook. Working up front in his father's restaurant as he grew up and occasionally presented with the opportunity to work as 'Chef's little assistant'. Now, he often dabbled with some of his own inventions and creations - He called them that because they weren't always what you could call a proper meal when they were presented.

Everything was ready but the cheesecake he had left to set in the fridge and he was giddy. When the distinct sound of the door was heard through the house he stood and made his way down the hallway.

Mycroft placed his umbrella gently in its stand and started to remove his coat, facing away from Greg. Greg took quiet steps up behind his mysterious man and helped to remove his coat, leaning around him to hook it up on the peg. He pressed in close to Mycroft's back and hugged around his waist, linking his fingers on his front.

"Hey," Greg finally greeted into Mycroft's shoulder blade.

Mycroft turned in Lestrade's arms and wrapped his own around the neck of the Detective, scratching softly at the hair at the nape, "Hello," he replied with a small smile, "What a pleasant surprise."

Greg leant up and gave him a chaste kiss before snuggling close in his chest, "Yeah, 'course you were surprised. You probably knew before you left the office, right?" His voice muffled in Mycroft's jacket.

Mycroft grinned although Greg couldn't see it, "Actually, I didn't know until Abigail smirked at me from behind her mobile phone. That was more than a little untoward. Quite unsettling if I must say."

Lestrade pulled back and let his hands fall to Mycroft's hips, a confused look crossed his face, "Abigail?" he asked.

Mycroft's hands came to rest at Greg's upper arms, "Ah, you may know her as Anthea." Greg nodded, his mouth forming an 'o' in realisation. "Yes, she seems quite fond of that particular name and it seems she likes to return to that one more than most. Abigail today, however."

Greg nodded again and stepped further away but took one of Mycroft's hands in his own, "Right. But if you will follow me, Mr. Government, I have prepared a fine meal and we shall continue our conversation there," and insisting on pulling Mycroft to the dining table in the kitchen.

Leaving his lover to sit, Gregory grabbed a tea towel and pulled his lasagne from the oven where had been kept warm. He dished up plenty on both plates as he was quite hungry and he knew Mycroft would eat anything Greg gave him. Sod the diet, he didn't need to be on one. He said as much out loud and Mycroft's eyes showed his otherwise guarded emotions that processed in less than a second. Shock, caution, happiness, hurt, but what his face had settled on was a shy upwards twitch of his lips and a nod of acceptance.

While eating their meal and sipping at a glass of red each, they shared a few stories of their week spent apart; Mycroft's always being quite vague and dismissive, but partaking non the less.

Their meal consumed and conversation come to a close, their hands inching closer across the table until Greg took Mycroft's and entwined their fingers. Mycroft stood, keeping their hands together, and pressed his lips to Greg's. He pulled his lover from his chair and hugged him close as their mouths worked together.

They ended up falling onto the sofa together, hands roaming under shirts and legs tangled beneath them, when Mycroft's phone chimed and he pulled back slightly, looking rather irritated.

Greg nuzzled at the neck that was now presented to him, "Leave it."

Mycroft leant into the touch but sighed, "It might be important," reaching for his pocket.

"You only just got home," Lestrade argued and grabbed Mycroft's jacket about the pocket in a way that the phone couldn't be retrieved.

Holding himself up on elbows he stared down at Greg apologetically, "A lot can happen, even in the short time I've been away, Gregory."

Lestrade knew that Mycroft occupied a more important position in the Government than the minor role he insisted he had but they hadn't even had two hours together after a whole week apart. That, also due to Mycroft's Job and travel requirements. He also knew Mycroft didn't want to leave if it came to that but that didn't stop the anger from rising. "Please. You only just got back, I'm sure Britain wouldn't choose the one night you don't look at your phone to start a war," arguing wasn't going to help. Mycroft would reach for his phone anyway, "Please. I missed you. Please."

Mycroft screwed his eyes shut for a second before opening them and setting his mouth in a thin line. He looked like he was on the verge of tears. That was new. "Gregory, let me see what the crisis is and if they can handle it without me I promise to stay." He needed to see it. Just in case. "I promise." No one would contact him if it wasn't at least a minor issue of security.

Pulling the offending object from his pocket, Mycroft glanced over at Gregory, hoping to express his apology in more than just words. What he saw, instead, was an expression cross the man's face that he never wished to be the cause of again. He deflated as he let out a breath and his own expression softened. He didn't open the message. Nor did he even unlock the device. Without even thinking any more about it, he simply looked into Greg's eyes as he pulled a box from beneath the coffee table and placed the phone meaningfully into it before pushing it back into place.

Greg's eyes widened as did his mouth into a bright smile. "Thank you," he whispered, bringing Mycroft closer by the nape of his neck.

Mycroft pushed their foreheads together and their noses brushed. "I'm all yours, my love."

* * *

The message left forgotten until the next morning, as it so happened, was not to inform Mycroft of an impending war or attack on British soil. Rather it was a personal message from his assistant that read:

_Enjoy you time with him, sir. Your appointments for tomorrow have been cancelled. You can thank me later. -A_


End file.
